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you actively investigating Mrs. Davis?”
              “Yes and no. We have a file on her, but I’m sad to say, a closed file. I headed the investigation.”
              “Insurance fraud?”
              “Correct.”
              “To what extent?”
              “Good question,” Richard Hollis said. “According to my records, Perry Perkins has collected almost a million dollars in insurance claims.”
              Tasha whistled.
              “Yes indeed. Mrs. Perkins’ criminal acumen is the best I’ve ever seen. In my opinion she’s a criminal genius. No doubt you’ve checked her criminal history and came up blank.”
              “Yes, I did.”
              “She doesn’t even have a juvy record. No speeding tickets, no hot checks, nothing. Combine her criminal expertise with a small police department unwillingness to investigate unless there’s three or more eyewitnesses and a video tape, you have someone like Mrs. Perkins getting away with murder.”
              “Mr. Hollis, if you have credible evidence supporting a homicide, we will do everything possible to bring forth an indictment.”
              He smiled at her, a patronizing smile. “You’ve seen her driver’s photo, haven’t you?”
              “Yes, I’ve seen it.”
              “Her head is down. You can’t distinguish her face.”
              “That’s a mistake. The DMV’s mistake.”
              “I don’t think so. This woman doesn’t make mistakes.
    Two years ago I started this case thinking Mrs. Perkins had made a mistake somewhere in her schemes. I was wrong, dead wrong. At a distance it looks an easy, open-and-shut case--woman kills for insurance proceeds.
              “Up close it’s a nightmare. Tons of circumstantial evidence, not a shred of physical proof. This woman makes me look bad, incompetent. Five months into my investigation my superiors shut it down. If you can add something solid, I can reopen the case.”
              Tasha lighted a Newport. “Mind if I smoke?”
              “Yes, I do.”
              She stubbed the cigarette in a homemade aluminum foil ashtray. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hollis, I have no evidence whatsoever concerning Willie Davis’ death. In fact, we were convinced his death was an accident.”
              “Who?”
              “Willie Davis.”
              “Who the hell is he?”
              “The victim. Her husband. The guy she allegedly murdered.”
              “Never heard of him. The claims I worked involved a Tyrone Banks and a Lester Perkins. Willie Davis,” shaking his head, “is a new one on me. Did she file a claim on him?”
              “I don’t know. That’s why I called you.”
              Richard Hollis scratched his chin. “She’s listed on the bureau’s hot list…any claim she files should red-flag. With a million and one insurance agencies out there, there’s no guarantee…Wait a minute! May I use your phone?”
              Tasha nodded and Richard Hollis snatched up the phone.
              “You got a social on Willie Davis?” Tasha shook her head. “No problem, if a claim has been paid we got him.”After a brief phone conversation he hung up. “No connection insurance-wise. Willie Davis drowned in a boating accident, didn’t he?”
              “Yes, he did.”
              “Damn! This is very interesting. Somehow she has managed to marry and become a widow again without our knowledge. Do you have a marriage certificate?”
              “No. I’m sure there’s one on file. Why?”
              Scratching his chin with both hands: “That makes three suspicious deaths. This recent one, though, Willie Davis listed a Keshana Green as his sole beneficiary.”
              “Who is